


/5 times anathema saved newton from dying (and the 1 time she still did it, but also not really)

by Pearly_Pornography



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-16 07:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19313473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: Because the lack of Newt whump is disturbing.





	/5 times anathema saved newton from dying (and the 1 time she still did it, but also not really)

'Dick Turpin' was to cars what Egon Schiele's works were to the history of art, that being a grotesque abomination twisting about in corkscrews of skeleton and skin to create some kind of ghastly monster that didn't deserve to exist. Not because they were bad, no, they were too good to exist, because all they wanted was to die. That was 'Dick Turpin', a three-wheeled bouncing road-box that wasn't good for much of anything. Now, Adam had offered to repair 'Dick Turpin' extensively with his reality-bending powers, but Newton declined. He liked his car just the way it was. 

Anathema had begged him, on several occasions, to throw the damn thing away.  _You could have any other cheap car you could possibly want_. Newton would respond, blankly,  _I want 'Dick Turpin'_. And that would be that, no more argument about it, at least for the next few hours.

Newton was tentative about living in Anathema's home, even though she'd said on multiple occasions that it was completely fine, so he'd been staying in various places. Mr. Shadwell's home, motels, in his car, the list went on really, and he did a lot of driving around from place to place. The amount of petrol he wasted money on was getting to be a bit ridiculous, it'd really be worked out if he would just settle down somewhere. But he wasn't smart in that sort of way. It was difficult to say what way he  _was_ smart in, but it certainly wasn't in the financial way. But now it was Valentine's Day, the first Valentine's Day of the beginning of the rest of their lives. 

Most people didn't take Valentine's Day seriously. Newton took it  _very_ seriously, mostly because he'd never had any reason to celebrate it until now. He'd bought chocolates and flowers and a goddamn  _teddy bear_ because Anathema had to at least like ONE of those things. Surely one couldn't hate chocolate, flowers and teddy bears at the same time, they'd have to at least enjoy one of them a little bit. He also got her a card. It was only customary, but she'd probably find it cheesy.

'Dick Turpin' was making that noise again, the sort of angry rumbly one like it had rocks shoved all inside of it. At some point, it startled Newton when his car started making strange sounds, but now it was just par for the course. In fact, sometimes he even found it comforting, a sign of normalcy. The moment 'Dick Turpin' stopped making any noise would be the moment everything went wrong.

His little gifts for Anathema sat in the passenger's seat, and Newton took the wheel, 'Dick Turpin' humming and growling. It was drizzling a bit. Hopefully it wouldn't get any worse, because rain was just kind of bad on all accounts. Bad for seeing, bad for driving, and most importantly, very bad luck. Anathema was all about that superstitious stuff, she wouldn't walk under ladders and would knock on wood if necessary. The only thing she defied was a fear of black cats. In fact, she actually really loved black cats, she even said she really wanted to buy one. Her and Newton, of course, had yet to agree on a name. (Anathema wanted to name it either 'Oleander' or 'Wolfsbane', depending on its sex. Newton said that regardless of sex, he was going to name it 'Thomas Dolby', after one of his idols, AKA the man people only remember for  _She Blinded Me With Science_.)

He started the car at 12 PM.

* * *

It was 1 PM, and Anathema was cleaning her home.

She tended to leave a whole slew of things just laying around, it was one of her many little flaws. She'd heavily considered whether or not celebrating Valentine's with Newton was a good idea. Were they going too fast? What if this wasn't the right decision? Anathema had lead her whole life predestined, so she would know if things were in fact going to end poorly. She burned it. She burned what remained and now life was unpredictable.

It was oddly freeing, if kind of scary.

She hadn't bought anything for Newton, she'd rather die than smother him in drug store gifts created by the dozen in factories without any thought or love put in. Instead, she wove him a worry doll, as he seemed to have a fair number of worries. It looked like nobody in particular, aside from a few of the goofy shrunken heads she'd seen in those stupid old cannibal movies that everyone used to make. As well, she was making dinner. Normally they just lived on take-out, but tonight felt special, and she knew for a fact that Newton was living on garbage when he wasn't at her house. A roast chicken sat in the oven, with lemon and thyme, and just a little bit of paprika for a kick.

The table was set. She'd tried to ask Pepper if she wanted to go flower-picking, however, Pepper called her a "victim of a sexist agenda" and "refused to take part in arbitrarily feminine activities". Wensleydale was perfectly happy to help out, though, and they uprooted a few wild daisies in the fields. She sat them in a pale purple vase, with little fish on it. She didn't have the time to bake a cake, but they sold perfectly good ones at the closest chain-grocer. (Which was still a very long distance from Tadfield.) It was a black forest cake with little cherries.

Even then, that was not the end of her planning. She went out and rented some nature and history documentaries. (Because they both hated actual romantic films.) They sat in a stack on her table, not the dining table but the  _other_ table. And of course, in her bedroom she kept the  _fun stuff_ out and available. (Including three different kinds of lube, and a strap, because no self-respecting witch can go without one, really.) Plus she'd invested in a very expensive red wine, a fabulous  _pinot noir_ aged to perfection that was given to her by Madame Tracy. Of course she wouldn't be pouring out too much, because one look at Newton and anyone could tell he was as lightweight as they came.

He was expected to be there by 2 PM on the dot, though perhaps it was asking too much for anyone to be quite so punctual. The traffic in England was a nightmare at times, and at other times it was just a sweet little drive through the dandelions without a care in the world or a car on the road. Plus, his three-wheeled car tended to just give up at random. Anathema didn't get it. Newton could, absolutely, afford a better car. 

1:30 crawled along and she was dusting shelves off, because the lint absolutely made Newton's asthma act up like nothing else would. (Which was also the only reason she didn't burn incense on days he was coming over.) The worry doll had been sat in a nice little bag filled with tissue paper. She put some jazz records on, just to set the mood, and readjusted the flowers to make absolutely sure that they looked alright. Then re-dusted the shelves just to be abso-posi-lutely sure he wouldn't have an asthma attack when he showed up. She tied shut a few small pouches of birdseed so maybe they could go feed birds later.

2 PM. He wasn't there yet, which she expected, so she decided to make sure the chairs were in picture-perfect position, and filled the glasses of wine just so things would look more ready, adjusted the throw pillows on her couch, she wanted this place so clean, it was like she'd never lived there. By the time she finished, it was 2:10. Still no sign of him.

First she tried Shadwell's phone, and was promptly answered by Madame Tracy, who told her that Newton hadn't slept there last night. No, he must have gone to one of those motels. He did have a cell phone, an absolute brick with a long, wiggly antenna sticking out of it. She tried that one, and listened for the dial tone. It rang once, twice, if he stood her up without a word she'd eat that whole damn chicken by herself. It went straight to voicemail.

Anathema cursed and walked away, as it was 2:20 and she was now certain he wouldn't show up. But then the phone rang again. She picked up.

"Hello?"

* * *

 

It was 1:45 PM.

The rain really did just keep on coming, now it was getting all-too-hard to see. Unfortunately, one of 'Dick Turpin's windshield wipers had snapped off about a year ago. Which he  _thought_ was fine, but today it really wasn't fine, because it was nigh impossible to see. So there was Newton, swerving blindly on countryside roads as it poured rain. It would probably be easier, at this point, to just stick his head out the window, but he didn't think of it.

His eyes were straining to make sense of the blips and blurs that took form on his windshield, but it was getting more and more difficult with time. He wrinkled his nose, trying his damnest to actually remain on the road and not veer face-first into grass. The sound of the rain hitting his windows was ear-piercing, like his car was being shot at.

Then he saw it. It stood a brown blob on the black blob that was the road. A deer. Oh no. Newton kicked at the breaks, but they had seen better days, so he only had one option. Grabbing the steering wheel he swerved off the road just before hitting the deer, who stood placidly upon the rainy asphalt. His car flipped into a roadside ditch, rolling onto its side. Windows cracking, glass shattering, Newton's head knocked against the walls. It turned again. This wasn't a ditch, it was a hill. He'd driven off the side  _OF A HILL._ And now he was being thrown around like clothes in a dryer, smacking his face on walls and against the steering wheel and his glasses shattered and oh God everything was horrible.

The car finally came to a stop against a tree, upside-down and next to a completely different road. The first thing Newton did was vomit, all over himself, dizzy as an untrained ballet dancer. He tried to gain his bearings. Glass was stuck in his face and hands, and his knees were torn open. Blood clung to his clothing. He couldn't see shit, really, his glasses had shattered to pieces and really the only thing he could hope for was that he didn't crash-land on top of a bunch of frogs or something.

His phone was ringing. He didn't know where it was ringing from, it had to be buried underneath a bunch of stuff. Oh god, what time was it? He had to call Anathema or else she'd be furious. Uncertain of where his cellular was, his eyes laid on a phone booth (A.K.A. an out-of-place red blob) just outside. He had some money in his pockets. His body practically spilled out of his upside-down car door and he dragged himself through grass and up to this oddly-placed booth, leaving a trail of watery blood behind him. 

Now, the feeling of moving on broken bones and glass was a pain Newton had yet to experience until that moment. It really hurt, it hurt much worse than the last time he'd crashed, or the time before that, or even before that. He got nervous, rolling onto his back to assess the damage in proper lighting, and it hurt to even lift his left arm, its own weight pressing down on snapped bone. Even though he was trapped under freezing-cold rain, he still had to unbutton his shirt, to work out all of the jagged pieces of glass buried in his skin. He wanted to throw up again, he hated blood, absolutely hated it. Even if he couldn't see very well, he knew it was there, contrasting on pale, rain-wet skin, it stood as red as the phone booth mere meters away.

Performing any kind of medical procedure in this state would be unwise, of course this was the day Newton had neglected to pack first aid with him. What would he need it for? They were just going to kiss and have some dinner and maybe intercourse, nothing more. But he did want the glass out, and he wanted it out now. His fingers shakily skimmed across torn skin, and he hissed when he felt one of them, but grabbed it between two fingers.

It was stubborn.

The feeling of the point skimming against his inner flesh was too much, he wanted to throw up again. A lurch and a dry heave, but nothing more than that, as he really hadn't eaten much before leaving the house. And it was then that he realized.

The presents.

The gifts for Anathema were still in the front passenger seat of his fallen steed. It would be wrong enough to be late, even worse to show up late and heavily wounded, but with nothing to show for it? Okay, this was fine, he'd call her first and then get the presents out. They were probably destroyed. Newton's heart sank into his shoes like a lead balloon. But he got back on hands and knees, pain shooting through his body every time his stomach clenched. It wouldn't be long now. Though, really, he had no idea what time it was. (The car had crashed at around 2 o'clock.) Never before had the door of a phone booth felt so tall. To reach the handle, he'd have to stand.

It was foolish of him to assume the damage below the belt was any less than above, he simply hadn't had to use his legs for much at all. The moment he got one leg under him it exploded with screaming nerve endings. Tugging up the pant leg, he could see the heavy swelling around his ankle even without his glasses. It was blooming brown and purple, it was heavy, it was practically the size of an orange and it hurt. Thankfully, his left leg was better, aside from a scraped knee full of window glass he also seemed to have a minor sprain and nothing more. His palms clung, clammy, to the sides of the phone booth and he kicked his other foot beneath the rest of his body. Every part of him was screaming, but at the very least it seemed like adrenaline was kicking up to numb his brain. Either that or he was just getting used to it.

Opening the booth, he didn't even bother to close it behind him, shambling inside and blearily trying to dial Anathema's home phone. Sure, he couldn't read the numbers, but he  _knew_ what the average num-pad looked like. He grabbed the receiver and knelt down to alleviate the grinding of shattered bone.

It rang, and it rang.

_"Hello?"_

She picked up. A Godsend, she picked up, Newton was so happy he could cry. Matter of fact, he was starting to.

"Ana- Anathema, I- uh- it's-"

_"Newton! Where the hell are you?"_

"Car crashed, rolled- uh, flipped, down a hill..." He wiped his face, though the salt of his tears stung the wounds on his palms. "It's cold and I can't see anything and I don't know where I am, and I'm so sorry-"

_"Oh my god. What road were you on?"_

"Um... It was maybe ten minutes away, er, started with a 'g'... wasn't quite in Tadfield but pretty close."

_"Yep, I know that one."_

"You do?"

_"Of course I do, you just sit tight, okay? I'm coming."_

* * *

 

Truth was, if Anathema knew the roads that well, she'd have to consider herself as psychic as her ancestors. All she really had was a paper map and intuition, as well as a bicycle. This was a nerve-wracking situation. Newton getting injured really wasn't any kind of laughing matter. After all, he weighed ten pounds soaking wet and often claimed to have "avian bones". She wanted to get there as soon as possible.

Following the first road out of Tadfield, it was actually one end of a fork, the other one going right past the little town and into God-knows-what. It curved a little, merged with some other road...

Ugh! Fuck maps! This sucked!

Eventually, she managed to trace back to a winding foresty road. Grushnik Street. As if anyone with a last name that interesting lived here. It sat edge-to-edge on a banking curve of a large hill. Presumably 'Dick Turpin' veered off the edge and rolled head-over-ass down said hill, landing beside a completely different road that lead, no doubt, to a completely different little town. Thankfully it was raining, and there weren't a whole lot of jobs going in or out of Tadfield, so the roads would most likely be empty. Anathema grabbed a coat and a first-aid case and hopped onto her bicycle, folding the map into a pocket. (If only it was waterproof.)

It had been merely drizzling before, but now the rain was coming in waves so thick the tiny drops began to look like larger entities from a distance. Big sheets of water clattering on the asphalt below, cold and dreary and hidden in thickets of overcast clouds. It was, oddly enough, the same sort of shit weather that came around when her and Newton had first met. Perhaps he summoned rain when in distress.

Quickly, any road out of Tadfield would inevitably become nothing but trees and grass within less than a mile. Anathema always wondered if there was a way of scaling where the forest ended and where civilization began, or vice versa. Like many good things, Tadfield was hidden within long stretches of woods.

Anathema had powerful legs. You develop them inevitably, when your only mode of transportation is by bike. Of course, she would have gotten there faster if she didn't have to check her map constantly, as well as ducking underneath downy pines to protect it from the rain. Her fears were far too great. A life of uncertainty was never one she had lived, not until quite recently, anyhow, and now there was always the possibility of bad things. To most it'd be silly to presume Newton as dead, but when you're an anxiety-ridden witch who's lived her whole life out of prophecy books, suddenly anything makes sense to you.

Finally she found it, where Maplewood became Grushnik. It sloped downwards, where she could distantly see the flip-turned wreckage of 'Dick Turpin', three wheels raised in the air like dragonfly legs, desperate for purchase on land. Dismounting her bike, she slowly walked it down the hill, trying not to slip on the soaking wet grass beneath her boots. As she came to where mud collected at the hill's bottom, she saw it.

Two legs, sticking through the car's upside-down window, like a crushed Wicked Witch of the East.

Anathema got that sick feeling, the sort where all of one's guts just slide down far below where they belong. Those were certainly Newton's pants -- the silly sort of plaid ones that he wore to look professional or neat. 

Her hand ghosted over the back of his leg, the other reaching for the first-aid kit she'd brought. His ankles were swollen, one distinctly worse than the other, they burgeoned inside of his white, calf-length socks. He was clearly face-down. Blood had pooled below his body, saturating the grass and moss and mushrooms in a deep, cruel red. His arms weren't visible, possibly above his head, grabbing for something.

She turned him over to assess the damage. His knees were scraped open, (as were his palms) clothes torn to shit and plastered to his skin with water. His shirt was unbuttoned, chest full of glass shards and bruised. Possibly a broken rib. His arm looked swollen as well, and his face was a mottled mess of reds and purples, nose crooked and shedding blood into his open mouth. His chest heaved shallowly. He was alive.

Something else appeared to be stuck to his face.  _Animal shit_ , that was Anathema's first guess. She sniffed it.

Chocolate.

With as much care as possible, she pulled Newton all the way out of the car. His arms came out last, and one of his hands gripped onto what appeared to be a stuffed bear. It was a bit singed and torn, but she could still read the little heart it held onto in its lap. 'I love you BEARy much!'

Peeking inside of the car, flower petals and chocolates were scattered across the inside, many of the sweets cracked open, sticking to the dashboard and seats. Broken glasses hung from the shattered front mirror. A Valentine's Day card laid on the ceiling-turned-floor, a bit rumpled as it were. On the outside it had a picture of a black cat, and on the inside, 'We're purr-fect together!' in Curlz MT font. As well, Newton wrote his own little message. 'Love you. Happy Valentine's Day. Thanks. Signed Newton Pulsifer.'

Anathema lifted Newton over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, making mostly-certain not to irritate anything already wounded. They'd come back for the car later.

* * *

 

It was around 6 PM when Newton woke in Anathema's bed.

(Even without his glasses, he'd know that pillow anywhere.)

First thing he did was try to sit up, but his chest screamed at him to lay back down. It throbbed, a deep, humming pain all over. Constantly on standby, waiting to break through. So clearly the crash wasn't a dream. He must've passed out while trying to get... the gifts. Oh God, he didn't get the gifts.

"I see you're up." Anathema's voice.

"Anathema, I-I'm so sorry, I didn't- there was a deer in the road and, I couldn't, and suddenly my car rolls down a hill and, I got you presents, but- but I couldn't... get them out of my car." Newton sniffled a bit, there was that glass-ball-in-throat feeling lingering, the sign that he was about to cry. "And now I'm late, and just- everything is ruined. I ruined everything. Just like I ruin computers all the time."

"Well, it was thoughtful of you to get me anything to begin with. Let alone three things." She ran her fingers through his hair. Newton closed his eyes, drowning in the soft warmth of her hands on his damp, cold skin. "I managed to salvage some of it. I liked the card with the black cat on it."

"Yeah, I-I know you love... black cats."

"Unfortunately it'll be difficult to enact most of my plans since you're severely injured... everywhere. I had to put stitches in your chest." Newton blinked, rubbing his hands over the wounds and hissing a bit. There definitely was some thread there. "But the good news is, we'll now have over a month of time to spend together since you probably won't be going much of anywhere until you heal. Which- I mean, that's kind of a terrible sort of 'good news' but I'm trying."

"I'm, uh, I'm glad I get to stay here."

"For the record, I always say you can move in here."

"Well I don't want to impo-" Newton cut himself off with a yowl as he once again attempted to sit up.

"You're lucky the closest doctor does house calls, he should be here in an hour. Until then, uh, I made a roast chicken. It's- it's probably cold now. But you're probably hungry, and-"

"Thank you. I'm... actually rather peckish, I just didn't think about it."

"Great! I'll go cut you off some, then. What part do you like?"

"Leg." Anathema nodded, standing up to walk out of the room. It was blurry, but Newton still loved the way her hair moved and glistened in the window light. "Wait, hold on!" She turned on her heel, quick as always, and said, confused,

"What is it?"

"Uh, I love you."

"I-" She choked a bit, and then laughed to herself a bit longer. "I love you too. I'll call someone about picking up your car." 

"I love you!" He said it again. She made a little kissing sound, probably not wanting to walk all the way over, before stepping back out. In the living room, she sat the card on a table, just to look at it from time to time. Even if it had a bloodstain on it.


End file.
